


circumstance

by savedby



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Choking, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 09:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10738815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savedby/pseuds/savedby
Summary: So, Detroit has tentacle monsters and Boston has bears, but Toronto wants the winner of the playoff round to dick down their captain on center ice.It’s weird. Even Alex thinks it’s weird and he considers himself a bit of an expert on sex weirdness.





	circumstance

 

 

Toronto has some weird superstitions. 

 

Well, granted, Washington does too, but not about hockey. That’s mostly an Original 6 thing. Like when the Red Wings throw octopi on the ice at the end of the season as tribute to the Kraken that lives beneath the Joe, or how the Bruins turn Zdeno Chara into a bear for a week.

 

So, Detroit has tentacle monsters and Boston has bears, but Toronto wants the winner of the playoff round to dick down their captain on center ice.

 

It’s weird. Even Alex thinks it’s weird and he considers himself a bit of an expert on weirdness.

 

But, Toronto played a good series. He’s willing to indulge them.

 

Alex skates to center ice, leaves his stick behind on the bench, because he’s occasionally into kinky things, but that’s a little step too far. He waits, a little impatiently, sweat drying on his skin and fatigue cramping up his legs, for the Leafs to emerge from their huddle.

 

His team is there too, standing behind him like a wall, ready to intervene at any hints of foul play. The cameras have been turned off, but the stands are still completely full of fans in Leafs blue, somber like a grave.

 

Finally, the Leafs break apart and Matthews skates forward to stand in front of him. In the absence of an actual captain, it’s the only goal scorer that has to step up to the plate, though Alex can spot Rielly hovering protectively behind him, ready to step in at any hint of discomfort from their rookie superstar-

 

For his part, Matthews looks nervous and exhausted, but not terrified. That’s good. Alex would have had no qualms about sending him away if he were. 

 

He takes a moment to asses the situation. He supposes he could ask Matthews to strip and take him right there at center ice, no prep and no slick. But he doesn’t consider himself that kind of guy. Besides, he likes the kid.

 

“If you kneel,” Alex asks, conversationally, “can you reach?”

 

Matthews’ eyes widen and something in his face relaxes. He licks his lips unconsciously, before dropping to his knees right there on the ice. It’s not a bad image. It feeds into Alex’s arousal, leftover from the adrenaline rush and the thought of so many eyes on him. He’s always been a bit of an exhibitionist.

 

The sudden spike of lust leaves his fingers a little clumsy as he fumbles on the clasps of his gear. After a moment, someone’s fingers join him, undoing the laces and helping him step out of his padding, peeling down his underarmor. Alex chances a look behind him and grins.

 

Nicky, always with the assist. 

 

Alex takes himself in hand and strokes leisurely, watching Matthews’ face. His eyes are dark and a little hazy, and he follows the movement of Alex’s hand with his eyes. Alex reaches out to run his knuckles across his cheekbone, down his jawline, tilting up his face.

 

“Anything I should know before we start this?” he asks, once Matthews’ eyes clear up a bit.

 

“You need to come in my mouth,” Matthews tells him, voice surprisingly steady, “and...I…” he pauses, “you could c-choke me. If you wanted to.”

 

He blushes a delightful red at the last admission and Alex feels his grin widening.

 

“Put your hands on my thighs,” he tells him, and Matthews obeys immediately, his grip just on the edge of too tight. “Pinch the skin behind my knee if it gets to be too much and I’ll pull off.”

 

“That’s not the way it’s supposed to work-” Matthews starts, but Alex cuts him off.

 

“Too bad!” he says, jovially, “I say that’s how it works and I call the shots here.”

 

At that, something settles over the proceedings, a curious expectant hush. Matthews sits on his haunches and looks up at him expectantly.

 

“Brace your knees and dig the front of your skate into the ice,” Alex instructs, then sighs. “This is not the ideal place to be doing this.”

 

“Yeah, no shit,” Matthews mutters, but adjusts accordingly. “So are you going to put your dick in my mouth any time soon or?”

 

Alex snorts. “Lippy,” he gestures to his dick, “help yourself.”

 

Matthews frowns at him for a moment, but he moves. His hands are still clasped on Alex’s thighs, so Alex guides his dick into his mouth, reaching out to brush his hair out his eyes, settling his hands on his shoulders.

 

Matthews isn’t a pro, but he’s hardly an amateur in this. His mouth is warm and Alex is already fully hard, feeding off the adrenaline of a win and the hundreds of people watching. He won’t last long like this. Probably for the better, because it’s taking a big portion of his concentration to not fall down on his ass in front of everyone.

 

He lets Matthews do his thing for a little while. He seems to be enjoying it, eyes closed and his mouth stretched around Alex’s girth. But he did ask for something of Alex, and he’s big on delivering on his promises.

 

Alex touches Matthews’ jaw, adjusting his head so it’s how he likes it. Matthews opens his eyes, dark and all pupil, and Alex pulls back, gives him one last chance to opt out. Matthews follows him, which he supposes answers that particular question.

 

Slowly, inch by inch, Alex feeds him his dick, until it’s hitting the back of his throat and Matthews is tearing up and choking around him, saliva gathering in the corners of his mouth and dripping onto the ice. His hands on Alex’s thighs remain steady and he doesn’t try to move away.

 

Alex pulls back, and then he does it again. 

 

It’s actually takes a lot of his skating skill, because he has almost no leverage to thrust, and he’s always in danger of overbalancing in his haste to get his dick back down Matthews’ throat. 

 

(they should give him the Hart just for this, he thinks hazily)

 

In the end, it gets to be too much, and he pulls back a little, warning Matthews with a touch to his cheek and a breathless, “I’m coming!” before he comes down his throat.

 

The effect is instantaneous. Alex hears something like a crash in the distance, as a wave of something crashes across the rink. 

 

The crowd applauds, which is flattering.

 

Matthews sinks back on his heels and grins up at him. His face has lost most of its exhaustion, the scabbed over cut on his chin all but disappeared. 

 

“Good luck for the rest of playoffs,” Matthews tells him and smiles. Now that he mentions it, Alex feels suspiciously rejuvenated and the nagging hip injury that’s been flaring up since the end of the regular season feels almost nonexistent. As magics go, this one is pretty nice.

 

“Thanks,” Alex says, grinning, “do I at least get a kiss after all of that?”

 

Matthews snorts, but reaches out so Alex can pull him to his feet. The motion brings their faces closer together. Matthews is taller than him, bigger, and Alex isn’t used to looking up at people he kisses. 

 

But he goes for it anyway, kissing him gently, almost chaste, then deepening it when Matthews melts into it.

 

Alex lets his hand drift to the laces of his hockey pants. “Do you need some help with that?” he asks when they break apart.

 

Matthews flushes. “I, uh, actually already finished?” He squeaks a little on the last syllable and Alex laughs.

 

“Teenagers and their libido,” he says, and Matthews rolls his eyes. 

 

Alex feels someone at his back suddenly, and he doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Nicky. No one else would think to cup Alex’s ass so possessively while helping him back into his underarmor. 

 

Matthews watches them, looking a little lost, so Alex smiles at him. “That was an impressive performance,” he says, sincerely. “Looking forward to this again next year.”

 

Matthews snorts. “That’s assuming you’ll win,” he says.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: blowjobs on ice are a logistical nightmare - do not attempt


End file.
